


Cold Little Heart

by Leolaws



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/F, Hurt and comfort, Loosely Follows Canon, Non-graphic description of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 08:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leolaws/pseuds/Leolaws
Summary: It’s because the silence is getting heavy that she finally notices that everybody is staring at her. She realises that her hands are clutching the console so hard that her knuckles are white, and her jaw aches from being clenched too long. Luckily, no-one says a thing.Or the Sara character study throughout the end of season 3.





	Cold Little Heart

She jerks awake. She’s still gasping, a scream halfway down her throat. Nothing makes sense, the darkness is crushing her, and she tries to bury her nails in her palms to _feel_ something, but it doesn’t work. Her mind is stuck in a strange slumber, frozen by fear and panic alike, and she doesn’t even register that the lights are on again.

 

“Captain Lance.” The voice is familiar, almost piercing through her haze, but it’s not enough to get her out. She is frozen, half-sitting, and she can barely breathe, eyes wide open. It’s not her room that she sees, it’s only shadows, the kind she wants to forget but somehow seems unable to. She can smell the blood, the iron and the dust, and she isn’t on the Waverider, she’s back _there_.

 

_The cell is cold, and she cannot see the sky through the window’s bars, no matter how hard she tries. Every breath hurts, her back torn open and bleeding, and she wants to give into the pain but she can’t. She can feel eyes watching her every move. She lies limply, supported only by her wrists, bound to the celling with chains. She abandoned the idea of lifting herself up hours ago. Her only indication that the time somehow passes is the light of the Moon, growing weaker as her breath gets more shallow. She deserves this, she thinks. Failure is not an option here, and she knows she will never earn their respect back if she gives in. But knowing that her Beloved is watching does not makes this easier._

 

It’s like her back is bleeding all over again, torn open by lashes she still feels. She can remember it all, from the poorly hidden disappointment of her mentor to the cold cruelty of Ra’s, or worse, the pain in Nyssa’s eyes as she delivers one lash after the other. She shouldn’t have watched her, she should have closed her eyes and turned her head away, but Ra’s al Ghul wanted her to know how much her mistakes could hurt her lover.

 

“Captain Lance. Should I call Agent Sharpe?” She almost jumps out of her skin. Her vision clears, and she takes a sudden breath, feeling light-headed. Her hands are shaking, and she can almost feel the scars on her back burning. Can almost feel the feather-light kisses on them, a silent apology that hadn’t been needed. She presses her knees against her chest, and takes her head between her hands.

 

“Capta—”

 

“No, Gideon.” A pause. She shakes, just a little. Breathes in, and out. “Thank you.”

 

The silence settles after that, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to. She hasn’t dreamed of Nyssa in so long, she feels guilty somewhat. As if she’s forgetting her. Of course, it isn’t as if the memories are welcomed. Still. She doesn’t remember much of her life before the resurrection. It is the strangest thing. The memories are there, but distant, feeling like they’d happened to someone else. Like watching a movie. She is detached from them, and yet; yet she can now remember the fear, the pain, the desperation, the guilt. The dream had been too real, too _true_. She can’t escape it.

 

She wonders why she suddenly recalls such punishment. She knows it has something to do with Mallus, with his influence on her. Trying to unsettle her. She hates to admit it, but it works. She’s afraid of falling asleep. She’s afraid of what she’s going to see, of what she’s going to feel. She doesn’t want to remember — doesn’t think that she can deal with it, not right now. They can’t afford her being _emotional_ , of all things. She needs to remain aloof, composed. She can’t allow herself to think about Nyssa — that’s a mess that she can’t think about, for fear of falling apart. She’s barely holding on as it is.

 

She doesn’t go back to sleep. Instead she stares at the wall, and tries her hardest not to think about anything. Her heartbeat doesn’t slow, and she feels nauseous, but she breathes as steadily as she can. She wants to grab her phone, wants to contact _her_ but it isn’t fair to the Agent. She may be dating her, still the woman hasn’t signed up on her crap. And honestly, she should be able to deal with it herself, no matter how hard it seems. Because if she can’t, then they’re all screwed, aren’t they? If it’s that easy to get into her head, then Mallus wouldn’t even have to try.

 

Still, she’s exhausted. The dreams (memories) come every night, and there’s nothing she can do to escape them. Ava … Ava’s presence did help but it didn’t stop the nightmares, and Sara’s tired of hiding them. Especially when it doesn’t work all that well.

 

(And Ava, bless her, but she knows, Sara can see it her eyes — and yet she doesn’t ask about them.)

 

So she’s doing what she does best, she’s running. Admitting she has a problem is admitting weakness and she can’t bare it, so instead she hides and leaves her bed for the training room. Gideon doesn’t say a word but she can hear her anyway, can feel the disappointment. It’s the only way she knows though, and she beats the shit out of the mannequin for longer than is necessary. Until she doesn’t remember what she’s running away from anymore. Until her back no longer feels like it’s torn open and bleeding. Until she can’t feel Nyssa’s tears against her shoulder.

 

When she comes back to, her entire body is aching and she’s finally calm enough to breathe properly. She turns and sees Amaya in the doorway, watching her with that look she has, making you feel guilty and cared for at the same time, and Sara sighs. She doesn’t have to say a word really, it’s all written on the older woman’s face, and the blonde doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Can’t, really, because she only started to be free of those thoughts and now what? Her jaw clenches and she turns away — never one to back down from a fight, but she knows to choose her battles — towards the salmon ladder that she really shouldn’t be climbing but can’t help to. Everything hurts but it feels good, and it keeps her from having to see the disappointment in her friend’s eyes.

 

She only stops when she’s alone again, and she almost collapses once she hits the ground. She’s out of breath, and she doesn’t think she’s going to be able to stand up anytime soon, but she’s free of those thoughts again. Until the tell-tale sign of a portal opening behind her, and God but she has nowhere else to run.

 

“Overdone it?” The tone is light, teasing, but Sara can’t face her, not without her game face on. And she doesn’t feel in control right now. Her emotions are so close to the surface that she can almost feel her eyes begin to water. She swallows and forces a smile on her face, just in time too.

 

“Gotta keep in shape.” It doesn’t quite reach her eyes but it’ll do for now. She can see the slight hesitation in Ava’s eyes but their relationship isn’t that old, and she can’t call her out on her bullshit — yet.

 

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to be standing afterwards though.” The light teasing is back, the smile on Ava’s face is gentle, a little shy — like she isn’t sure how to act casually around Sara yet. It doesn’t bother her.

 

“What, think I can’t still kick your ass?” The smile on her face is truer, and she stands up — even if she needs to balance against the ladder to do so. It’s kind of pathetic, but she’s honestly too tired to care.

 

“You can try. Still, it wouldn’t be very fair.” And she wants to strike her just to show that she can, but it’s beyond her limits right now. So she pouts instead, falling easily into this flirty back and forth that she normally enjoys. But it reminds her of another time; a sudden memory of a smirking Nyssa standing over her, gloating.

 

And it isn’t fair to compare Ava to a memory, especially one that isn’t really her own. She feels so distant from it, like watching a photograph, and yet it’s all she can see. The glow on her lover’s face, the sparkle in her eyes and her own joyful, boundless smile.

 

“Sara?” The voice is much nearer than expected and she jerks back just a bit, just enough to see a flash of hurt on Ava’s face. And the guilt is spreading again, and she wonders — not for the first time — how far she could actually run away.

 

“Sorry, got lost in my own head for a second.” She isn’t being fair, and Ava deserves so much better than that — than her. But she’s selfish, always has been, and she says nothing more, staring as her lover’s face softened just enough.

 

“Are you okay?” It’s so full of concern that Sara wants to scoff, because it’s been a long time since someone actually cared and she doesn’t remember what it’s like. Of course, her team cares, in its on way, but it’s different. Ava is looking at her like she’s the most perfect thing in this room and it’s _too much_. It makes her want to bolt. It makes her want to cry. It’s a feeling she hasn’t experienced since she was brought back to life, and it scares her.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just … You know, the whole Demon-wants-to-destroy-all-of-time thing.” She’s deflecting, and it’s almost as if Ava knows, but she lets her. And God, she doesn’t deserve her, but she can’t help being glad that she’s here.

 

“And I’m sure that the fact that you skipped breakfast doesn’t help.” Ava’s good at that, Sara thinks, keeping away from the heavy stuff just because she doesn’t want to talk about it. Great girlfriend material, the kind to bring home to her parents, the kind her father might actually approve of and L— no, don’t go there.

 

“So you _do_ know me.” Sara flirts back, because it’s easy, almost as easy as the smile that blossoms on her face. She’s gotten good at hiding behind fake smiles, she thinks — she knows it doesn’t work though, she can see it on Ava’s expression, but the woman is ever too kind to bring it up.

 

“Alright, come on; I mean, useless you can’t walk.” The teasing tone is back and Sara can’t help but laugh, a short burst that is as heartfelt as she can manage right now. And, well, if she’s pretending to limp just because Ava circles her waist with her arm, then it’s always a bonus. “Although I can’t imagine what’s exciting about oatmeal.”

 

Sara pinches her ribs, because she can, and it’s Ava’s turn to laugh, and she stares just a little. She’s beautiful, she thinks, and there’s a light to her that is utterly distracting and that she can’t help but resent just a little — because it makes her feel unworthy, and she’d like so very much to be worthy of her.

 

The kitchen is thankfully empty when they reach it, and Ava drops her down on her chair. She makes a face, resting her elbows heavily on the table, and simply stares as the agent makes quick work of the food fabricator. There’s something terribly domestic about all of it, and it makes Sara happy just as much as it scares her. She doesn’t usually allow herself moments like this — not since her death, anyway — and it strikes her with a sudden case of melancholy. She thinks about better days — although they’re difficult to recall properly.

 

“One very bland plate of oatmeal.” The bowl is gently put down before her and she smiles her thanks, grabbing a spoon and chasing away all thoughts of a childhood that doesn’t feel like hers anymore.

 

“You know that it’s one of the healthiest kinds of breakfast, right?” There is teasing in her voice and she shovels a spoon of the food into her mouth with as little dignity as possible. Ava makes a face, and she almost laughs. She swallows and goes for another one, just as the woman stares, unimpressed, at Sara’s antics.

 

“Oh, I know. It’s only but the fifth time you’ve told me.” Ava deadpans, but the Captain can see the spark in her eyes. “It’s simply baffling that with that kind of technology you would choose something that tasteless. I mean, you could at least add a dash of honey to that. Hell, some berries.”

 

“Tell that to my abs.” She mumbles back around a mouthful of oatmeal, but the look on her lover’s face doesn’t turn disgusted, it turns hungry. And Sara knows it’s not for food. She smirks.

 

“I — Well — I suppose you have a — point.” The taller woman stammers and she grins, finishing the last of it, and pushing the plate away. Ava is blushing, and it is such a charming look on her that Sara can’t help but push it further. It baffles her, still, that the agent can still be so tentative about sex when they clearly know enough about each other’s body. It’s endearing, and refreshing — it reminds her of the early days of her relationship with Nyssa, when she was still shy about them. But she banishes the thought, because it’s all over and done with, and instead she leans over the table. Her sports bra is doing a great job at putting her assets forward and she doesn’t miss how Ava’s look shifts slightly towards them. Bingo.

 

“See somethin’ you like?” She grins and it’s cheesy as hell but she can’t help it. Ava turns crimson and her eyes snap back up, catching Sara’s smirk.

 

“Sara!” She can’t help but laugh, the slight offence in the agent’s voice amusing her to no end. She knows it’s not really true, too, because it wasn’t a week ago that the blonde was worshipping her breasts with her lips. As a matter of fact, she’d rather like to go back to that. Possibly while sharing a shower.

 

“Aw, don’t be mad babe, I like yours too.” She winks, and she can already see the beginning of a stammer forming on Ava’s tongue. The flirting makes her feel better, that is until they get interrupted.

 

“Captain, I think we have a —” Nate barrels in, and stops short when he sees them. Frowning just a little, Sara sits back and throws a quick smile in her lover’s direction, before she turns towards the man, scolding her expression.

 

“Yes Nate?” And, well, if she’s a little irritated, who can blame her? She knows she can forget about her shower, just as she sees Ava getting up in the corner of her eye. She wants to stop her, but the woman already has mumbled an apology, and she’s halfway through her portal. As soon as the thing closes, Sara deflates in the chair, and she sighs. “Nate?”

 

“Yes, sorry —”

 

“Nate, what happened to your hair?” She’s looking at him now, and there’s definitely something different. She can’t guess what exactly, but it doesn’t look as it should.

 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We have a new anachronism.” And good God, for once, she wishes she could catch a break.

 

 

***

 

 

She stays on the ship. Nate’s enthusiasm about Rock’n’Roll is the perfect cover, and she’d much rather keep an eye on the Death Totem anyway. She finds it to be more curious than the others — although, not for long. Her experience with spirits is honestly long enough, she didn’t need to add ghosts to her resume of shitty paranormal stuff. If anything, it creeps her out more than it does Ray.

 

Still, it’s the perfect distraction. She doesn’t want to call Ava — doesn’t want to seem needy — but she can’t do nothing either, because she knows her thoughts are going to run wild once again. In truth, the power of the Totem scares her. If Elvis can see his brother, then it means that she could as well and … That’s too tempting to ever consider. This isn’t a loophole, it’s just a recipe for disaster. And so, when Nate asks — begs — to give the Totem back to Elvis, at least for a night, she says yes. She knows she shouldn’t, that maybe the Darhks will take it from them; she can’t help but be relieved.

 

She doesn’t do well with temptation.

 

She’s alone long enough to consider sleeping, just for a minute. She’s in desperate need of a power nap — especially after that all Elvis’ brother debacle, and so she slumps on the couch in her office. She still fears closing her eyes, fears what she’s going to see, but she also knows that if she doesn’t get some rest soon she’s going to collapse.

 

The couch isn’t comfortable enough to sleep, but then again, she did so in worst conditions. That’s what her brains tells her, at least, but she doesn’t really remember. The only thing that makes sense about those nights, spent far away from home, is the fear that she felt. On the Amazo, on Lian Yu, she could barely sleep as well. But she isn’t in survival mode anymore, and in a way, it’s worse. During those five years, she had a good reason to be scared: she believed herself to be living on borrowed time. Today, though, she knows that Death will be back to claim her, and she doesn’t fear it, not anymore. What she does fear are the memories.

 

She doesn’t want them. She rather likes to be dissociated from them, as a matter of fact. They’re easier to deal with if she believes that they are not her own. Especially when half of them make her sick with guilt. She knows she was nothing short of a terrible person, before her death: between the murders, the cheating, the leaving (fleeing) like a coward. They are not things she likes to dwell on, not when she lets herself believe that this awakening was something of a second chance — one that she doesn’t deserve in the least, but a second chance nonetheless.

 

Still, she sleeps. Tries to. She isn’t sure that she is asleep, per say, but her body feels heavy and she’s incapable of thinking. The only thing she hears are the engines of the Waverider. It’s relaxing, and it’s exactly what she needs.

 

She’s completely out of it when someone shakes her shoulder. Her hand flies to a knife and it’s pressed against the offender’s throat before she even opens her eyes. There’s a gasp, and she realises it’s Ray, standing over her. She sighs.

 

“Ray!” When she opens her eyes, she finds him standing over her, still frozen in his panic.

 

“Sorry!” He’s stepping back now, and he’s not afraid of her, but he’s wary. She doesn’t like that look on his face. She frowns, and puts the knife away, sitting up. The little sleep she managed to catch was not enough, but at least she doesn’t feel like collapsing anymore — it’ll do.

 

“You know not to sneak up on me.” She says, because they know. It’s not the first time this happened, not even to Ray. But he’s so genuine and looks so apologetic that she can’t even be mad at him. “What is it?” She asks, passing a hand through her hair in an attempt to keep it out of her face.

 

“We’re throwing a funeral for Axel!” She can’t help put stare, just a little. She’s suddenly irritated, and it must show on her face because the Atom is taking a step back. Good.

 

“You’re tellin’ me that you woke me up to bury a rat? — Wait, who’s we?” He’s hesitating now, and God it makes her on edge. She can’t help it though. It’s her first sleep in a while without any kind of dream, and she wishes it had lasted longer. Of course, there was no guaranty that it would have stayed that way, but here’s to hoping.

 

“Mick and I. And, well, you?” He finally answers and she tries, but she can’t keep from groaning.

 

“Fine, but I’m drinkin’.” Which isn’t really advisable, but after all, she isn’t known for making incredibly good decisions.

 

It takes about ten minutes to prepare everything, and she buries herself in a glass of whisky to avoid rolling her eyes at Ray. He means well, of course, but she hates it when he involves her in his good-happy-perfect plans.

 

She’s stricken by a sudden memory, one of standing over a similar box — and she’s almost certain it contained the corpse of her long lost canary. It makes her finish her drink, and she’s tempted by pouring another. It’s not a bad memory exactly, but it doesn’t mean that she welcomes it. With the canary comes another kind of memories, the sort that involves whispers in Arabic, and ‘you are reborn’, and she does not want to think about that.

 

Thankfully, or not, Ray choses this moment to ask for her, and she has to calm the urge of punching him in the mouth. She wants this to stop however, so she goes for the lesser of two evils. Because it’s them, and they’re clearly screwed by the universe, the box moves.

 

She’s over it already. She is not going to deal with the bloody ghost of a rat she didn’t really care about. Yelling at Ray is easy — and well maybe she isn’t being fair but this definitely wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t decided to throw a rodent a funeral — and storming off is even easier. She can only hope that Nate and Amaya have it under control, because she doesn’t want to have to deal with that Totem if she can help it.

 

She tries to meditate in her room. It isn’t something that she does a lot anymore, because it makes her remember other times — and although she loathes to admit it, she also knows that she isn’t good at it anymore. She doesn’t seem able to calm her thoughts, and to empty her head, not since she died. If she’s being honest, it has gotten worse since she left Mallus’ realm.

 

She can still feel him inside her head, and she doesn’t even have to try. It’s like he’s waiting to ambush her, his presence impossible to forget, the feeling of him impossible to shake. She despises it. She hasn’t trusted her own mind in a while, but this, this is worse. She’s afraid to be unable to control the bloodlust. She isn’t blind, she knows her temper is getting worse — getting closer to what it was when she had just gotten out of the pit — and she fears she might do the unforgivable given the opportunity. She wishes she could talk to Nyssa about it, because she is the one who knows the most about it — what with her late father and the documentation she probably still has access to — but it’s impossible. She told her to live her life, and Sara is trying to. She hates that she left, that day. But there is no going back. She’s not sure she wants to, either.

 

“Captain, they are waiting for you on the bridge.” She is glad to be interrupted by the ever-cheerful voice of the AI. She just wants this day to end, without anymore disasters. She shoves her feelings deep inside her box, and steps out of the room, towards the rest of her team. Thankfully, they’re all there. The Death Totem is with them, and it makes her as happy as fries dipped in a milkshake.

 

“Good job, team.” She says nonetheless, an easy smile on her lips. She’s relieved, if a little wary. She forces her eyes away from the Totem just long enough to watch all of them. “I take it everything is settled?”

 

“Indeed, Captain. The timeline has been restored.” The metallic voice answers from the ceiling, and Sara smiles once more.

 

“Great.”

 

“Here!” Nate hands her back the small ring that makes her shiver, and she hides her distaste as she grabs it. It’s cold in her hand, and she has the distinct feeling that she shouldn’t be touching it.

 

“Thanks.” She mumbles, ignoring them as she steps into the office, dropping it on the desk. One less problem, although she isn’t quite sure it’s safe with her. She can’t stop staring at it, captivated and terrified at the same time. It’s like a big juicy Big Belly Burger thrown in her face, except she knows that if she were to take a bit out of it, it would turn to ash.

 

She’s weak, and she hates herself for it, but she calls Ava.

 

 

***

 

It’s a nightmare, she knows it is but it feels so real that she can’t shake it. It’s more than a dream, as usual, it’s a memory. She barely recognizes the little girl — but she _knows_. It’s Mallus again, manipulating that part of her that is dead and foreign, Mallus that takes pleasure in making her ache with guilt and choke with fear. She isn’t afraid, she shouldn’t be afraid — they bit it out of her for weeks, in the League; or almost. The only person she feared is Ra’s al Ghul, but he’s dead, or so they said. The Demon is trying its hardest though and it’s starting to work. It makes her feel out of control. It makes her feel as if she could do it again in a heartbeat: murder people without a single shred of remorse. It wakes the beast within her and that is what terrifies her.

 

When she jerks awake, Ava is here beside her. She hates that she is witness to that, to the frightened look she is sure the agent can see in her eyes. She hates that she feels better in her embrace, that if she could, she would never leave. But it’s not fair to Ava, because she hasn’t signed up to all of that. Sara’s damaged, and she’s not even certain she’d be enough for anyone anymore. She sure as hell knows that she doesn’t want to impose her problems onto someone else, especially as pure as Ava is. She craves it, still, the affection that she can see in the woman’s eyes, the careful touch she has when she tries to ground her.

 

So she doesn’t think about it anymore, and she lets herself be held, and be distracted. The flirting is easy, a habit she can’t shake, and she feels almost giddy as she calls Ava her girlfriend — but she knows, deep down, that it isn’t going to last. The fear is back, heavy in her gut, and she doesn’t want to be a coward but the insecurities are almost too much to bear. And she stares at the woman she’d grow to love, and she can’t help but think that she deserves more than Sara. But she’d take what she can while it lasts.

 

Because she can’t catch a break, they get interrupted by Gideon. The frustration on Ava’s face makes her laugh but she understands the feeling. Her arousal dies almost instantly, still she leans over her lover and kisses her one more time, a lingering taste of what could have happened.

 

Ava leaves, and the sudden loneliness isn’t pleasant, but she’s dealt with it long enough, and she can do it again.

 

She feels colder. She also has a headache, and she wants to blame it on the lack of sleep but even she is not that blind (or hopeful). There’s a ringing in her ears, and the hot shower hasn’t helped. If anything, it’s getting worse. She wants to hide away, possibly in Ava’s arms, for the next decade or so. She can’t. The woman has already left and the team is waiting for her.

 

They’re waiting on the bridge when she arrives, and it takes all she has not to wince at every step. The pounding in her head just won’t stop, and she feels bone-tired. Almost sluggish. If she leans a little too much against the console, then …

 

The idea of going out on a mission is not a welcomed one, but they don’t have a choice. She’d rather die than let Damien screw her over again. The hate is almost comforting, at this point, a feeling that she understands all-to-well — and she knows it’s the pit talking but it’s also easy and she’d settle for that. She hasn’t got the time to dwell on other things. It’s simple to be led by her desire for revenge, to put Darhk back in the ground, and it’s convenient that it’s part of the plan. She’d gladly slit his throat over and over again, just for the pleasure of seeing the spark die in his eye. Admittedly, she’d rather use the League’s idea of torture and make his death last for days, but Damien has the habit of slipping through their fingers and she wouldn’t want to chance that.

 

It’s because the silence is getting heavy that she finally notices that everybody is staring at her. She realises that her hands are clutching the console so hard that her knuckles are white, and her jaw aches from being clenched too long. Luckily, no-one says a thing. Gideon brings up the map of anachronisms, she delivers assignments, and they’re good to go.

 

Except that she doesn’t leave.

 

The Totem is talking to her. She’s seeing herself, or rather, the Canary. It’s strange to gaze upon her own form, and she can’t help but wince when she sees that she wears the outfit, the one she died in. She can almost feel the arrows in her chest, and she stops herself just before touching the scars. She shouldn’t listen to herself. She doesn’t trust herself, really. But the ghost is right about one thing: no-one on her team can wield this Totem; she won’t let them. Only she has a soul fractured enough to handle it. She’s not thinking when she grabs the trinket. She’s not thinking when she puts it on. And then, it’s like she’s not there at all.

 

Her body is not her own but she’s still conscious somehow of what happens, of Ray’s cries and it makes her _ache_. She’s stupid, the kind of stupid that lets herself be fooled by a damn neckless, and now she’s trapped. She knows she almost killed him but it’s not enough to shake it off. The fear is worse, and she hates herself, and she thinks for a second that maybe it’s what Nora feels like all the time.

 

The realm of Mallus is freezing and she’s never felt so lonely before. It’s like warmth will never touch her again. It’s terrifying. It’s like dying all over again, except she’s still very much alive. She isn’t sure her crew is going to make it through, though.

 

Suddenly, she isn’t alone anymore but it’s somehow worse. The scene in front of her is so alike her nightmare it makes her light-headed, and the voice in her ear, perverse, is pressing on her weaknesses.

 

It’s as if Mallus knows everything there is to know about her. He’s an expert at using it, too, because for a moment, she considers it. She doesn’t want to, but she isn’t blind. Nora’s right, she is terribly right and Sara is never going to get better. There is no changing what she is, no matter what she wants to believe. She’s an assassin, a murderer, and that’s that. She has more blood on her hands than most people ever will and without … Without Laurel life feels impossible.

 

She’s smarter than believing that joining them will solve her problems but she’s tempted. She wants the guilt to stop, she can’t stand it anymore.

 

But there’s warmth against her chest and a voice that enthrals her, and she’s stumped that she forgot about Ava for a second. The agent is trusting her so much and she doesn’t deserve it, but somehow it’s enough. It’s hope, something she has been lacking for so long now, and it makes her say no. No to Nora, to Mallus, to bringing her sister back. It doesn’t get easier but the memory of her sister is worth more than her ghost.

 

She’s herself again, and Ava is beautiful. She’s beautiful and she can’t stand it, because she doesn’t want to ruin it. But she will, that’s what she does. The woman saved her and she only wants one thing: to save her from herself. She won’t ruin her; she can’t stand the thought of hurting her.

 

And she can. She almost killed her entire crew, because it’s what she does.

 

The guilt is back, rolling in her gut and making her sick.

 

Still, she smiles. She has learned how to hide herself years ago.

 

She breaks her lover’s heart, and she can barely speak through the pain, but she has to. She’s a liability and she won’t stand for it. Ava is so light and she’s so dark; she won’t taint her.

 

She doesn’t lie when she says that it’s the happiest she’s ever been. It seemed impossible after her death, when she had felt such distance with herself. Anything but anger and hate, and then avoidance, had become foreign. Until Ava. But she won’t be selfish, not this time, so she sends her away. It doesn’t matter if she’s the one left to suffer, the agent is better off. If the blonde doesn’t know it yet, she’ll realise it soon.

 

 

***

 

 

It’s a mistake, but she can’t help it. She feels lost, a lot like before, and it makes her want to run.

 

So, she does. She packs a bag, throws in some of her essentials, and she leaves in the middle of the night. It’s not like she’ll sleep, so it doesn’t really matter.

 

She makes her way onto the jumpship. It’s the worst idea she’s had in a long time, but it’s a reflex that comes from the old Sara: running to the person how always managed to ground her. She doesn’t get to do that, but she can’t help it.

 

“Gideon, please.” She doesn’t have to say it, the AI knows. It’s silent for a long moment, and Sara can almost feel the judgment.

 

“As you wish, Captain.” And she departs to Star City.

 

The rooftops are so familiar it makes her heart ache just a little. She’s tempted by visiting her father, and Oliver, but she knows it isn’t wise. She isn’t in control, not anymore, and she doesn’t want to give Mallus more leverage against her.

 

She doesn’t have to look for her, Gideon dropped her a block away. It’s confusing to know that Nyssa has chosen to remain in Star City. She would have thought the City holds too many bad memories for her. If it wasn’t for Nyssa, and her father, Sara sure as hell knows that she wouldn’t put a foot in this place again.

 

She isn’t actually planning on talking to her. It wouldn’t be fair, not when the only person Sara seems able to think about is Ava. She just wants to see her ex, and hopefully, it would be enough to set things straight.

 

She doesn’t have to wait long. Perched on a service stairwell, half in the shadows, she stares as she sees her Beloved’s form step out of a restaurant. It’s a place she recognizes, somewhere Laurel loved to go, and her heart is tight in her chest. Still, she doesn’t move. She waits until Nyssa is almost at the corner, and she climbs down.

 

The street isn’t really busy, and it’s more trouble than it is worth. Nyssa is the one who taught her how to shadow people, after all, and the last thing she needs is getting caught.

 

Still, seeing her is not enough. If anything, she feels more confused than before. It’s still strange, to see her ex being so casual. It suits her, too. Not for the first time, Sara wonders what could have been if she had chosen to free her from Nanda Parbat. It’s too late now, of course, but the thought lingers long enough to make her uncomfortable. She doesn’t like how indecisive she seems. Maybe it’s only because Nyssa is safe.

 

“I thought I trained you better than this.” The voice comes, and she really shouldn’t be surprised. Lost in her own thoughts, she failed to notice that Nyssa had spotted her. The slight accent makes her ache and she tries to smile, but it’s more a grimace. Her ex’s own expression is unreadable, and once again, Sara has to resist the urge to turn around. She wants this, she tells herself. She needs this. And if she’s being honest, Nyssa deserves at least that from her.

 

“Hey.” It’s not near as eloquent as she’d hoped for, but at this point she’s glad to even be able to utter a word. Nyssa is still guarded and her cold demeanour is close to what it was in the League. Sara doesn’t know how to act anymore around the brunette, and it’s painful.

 

“I was not excepting to see you again.” It is as matter-of-fact as it can get, and it hurts. The grimace is back on Sara’s face, and she crosses her arms against her belly, ill-at-ease.

 

“I was always coming back, Nyssa.” She says, and it’s maybe a bit cruel. Nyssa’s smile tells her as much. They both know there was little chance of her coming back to the Heir. Still, the brunette is caring enough not to say anything.

 

It must show on her face, how tired she actually is, because her ex softens. She always had this uncanny ability to read her. It used to annoy her, but now, she’s glad for it.

 

“Come.” Nyssa says, and turns around to keep on walking. Sara follows, because she finds that once the fear is dealt with, she’s actually anxious to talk to her. She doesn’t know where they are going, but she keeps her eyes on the woman. She’s as beautiful as she ever was, her face unburdened by the years that went by. It’s been five years since she last saw her, but she hardly even changed.

 

They end up in a bar. She understands why Nyssa doesn’t take her back to her place. It’s too personal, and they’re like strangers now, as much as it pains Sara to admit it. Of course, she knows that it hasn’t been as long for Nyssa as it’s been for her, but it doesn’t matter much. She wasn’t here when her ex had to fight for her life, and there is no coming back from that. She only regrets she had never asked the details to Gideon. She knows but the outline of it.  

 

“What are you doing here, Sara?” Nyssa is politely curious, but distant. She’s staring at Sara, never one to fear a confrontation. The blonde can’t look at her, though, and she buries herself in her glass of whisky. It’s not a good one, but it’ll do. Just enough to keep the edge off.

 

“I don’t know.” She says, because she could never really lie to Nyssa. She sighs. The woman stays silent, and Sara is grateful. She needs a minute to gather her thoughts. There’s a hand on her knee, and it’s almost burning hot. It makes her realise how cold she is, as metaphoric as it may be. The smile on Nyssa’s face is gentle, and Sara tries to smile back, but she can’t feel what her face is doing. “I’m lost.” She doesn’t even realise she’s said it. It’s the truth, though. She’s losing touch with herself.

 

More silence greets her, and she swallows her alcohol. She gestures the bartender for another one, and takes a deep breath. She puts on a shaky smile, and finally dares to look into her eyes. Her brown irises are warmer than they were, and it gives her some courage.

 

“I can’t speak of the details.” She starts, hesitating. It shouldn’t matter, but that’s Ava rubbing off on her. A civilian can’t possibly learn about Mallus and the threat to all of history. Of course, Nyssa isn’t just a civilian. It’s too complicated to get into, though. The brunette simply nods, indulgent, and Sara is struck once more by how unfair she’s always been to this woman. There’s no time to think about that.

 

“Go on, Sara.”

 

Nyssa is safe, she tells herself. She can be weak around her. She doesn’t have to pretend to be strong all the time.

 

“The bloodlust … it’s …” She stops as the bartender refills her glass and she waits, an eye on the man. When he’s gone, she clenches her jaw. “I fear I can’t control it anymore.” It kills her to admit it but Nyssa remains free of judgment. There is a look on her face though, and she knows that somehow, the woman still blames herself for it all. “Bein’ with the Legends, in the beginning, it helped, y’know.” She doesn’t, of course, but the Heir says nothing nonetheless. “Lately though, I feel so much anger. I feel like I’m about to lose control at any second and it’s … God, I’m tired Nyssa.” She takes her head between her hands, and sighs.

 

There are fingers on her wrist, pulling her away, and the brunette is there, her expression kind. Sara chuckles, a little sadly, but she doesn’t pull away. “I’m a mess, Nyssa. I can barely sleep without remembering. And I can’t take a break, there’s too much at stake.”

 

 

***

 

 

She tells her everything. Damn the Time Bureau, she would always trust the assassin. She doesn’t miss the hurt that crosses briefly her ex’s face at the mention of Ava. Nyssa has always been the bigger person though. In the end, she brings Sara back to her apartment. The Legend is on the drunker side of tipsy, and she blames it entirely on the exhaustion.

 

It doesn’t keep her from observing the condo. It’s smaller than she would have imagined, but it’s all very Nyssa. There are very few personal items, but there are here nonetheless. It’s warmer than anticipated.

 

“Sit down, beloved.” The endearment still makes her ache a little, but she does as told. The sofa is comfortable, and if she wasn’t so wary of her dreams, she wouldn’t mind falling asleep.

 

Nyssa is making tea, in the open kitchen, and Sara can’t help but wonder at the domesticity of it. It’s stupid, too. That ship has sailed long ago.

 

“Here, drink this.” It’s chamomile, and Sara smiles just a little. She takes the offered cup and takes a small sip. Nyssa had taught her to appreciate tea.

 

“You cannot keep running, Sara.” The Heir finally says, staring at the Captain head on. Never one to back down from a fight, almost as stubborn as Sara. “You may think that you are doing … her, a favour but it is not the case.” The smile on Nyssa’s face turns bitter, just for a moment. “Take it from someone who knows.”

 

“Nyssa —”

 

“No, I apologise.” The woman takes a breath, and Sara stays silent. There is so much baggage there, and she feels guilty to drop all of her problems onto her. “You deserve to be happy, Sara.” Nyssa breathes, with too much conviction. Sara goes to contest the statement but the brunette raises a hand to stop her. She does. “You do. You deserve the world.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Sara can’t help but blurt out, shaking a little. “I’m sorry, Nyssa, God, I’m so sorry—” There are tears on her cheeks and the Heir is suddenly beside her, holding her and shushing her at the same time. She tries to calm her breathing but a sob comes out, and she freezes, mortified. It’s Nyssa but she’s still Sara and she can’t stand being like this. She doesn’t do emotional; she doesn’t do emotions at all.

 

“It is all right, beloved.” The brunette whispers against her head, pressing a kiss against her hair.

 

“It’s not, though, it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

 

“Sara …” The woman breathes above her, her embrace becoming a little tighter. It’s comforting, to be in her arms, even if it makes her slightly conflicted. Nyssa is familiar, and it’s easy to open up to her. Of course, she’s aware that she’s taking the other woman for granted — and she knows, she _knows_ that the Heir is anything but — she can’t help but be selfish about this too. “ _I love you._ ” She hears, the Arabic as gentle as it was in her memories. It makes her shake.

 

“Nyssa, I …” She can’t finish the sentiment. They both know it. It doesn’t matter. “ _I love you too._ ” She whispers nonetheless, the language not as rusty as it should be. She’s not in love though, not anymore. It seems cruel to say it. She hesitates.

 

“Tell me about her.” Nyssa asks instead, and it’s not fair, but thinking of Ava brings an instant smile to her lips.

 

“She’s nothing like us.” Sara starts, her thoughts a rumble she can’t organise. “There’s a light to her, it’s like she’s never been touched by tragedy.” She knows better than to believe that, of course. People in their line of work are never unblemished, but it’s a sweet dream to hold onto. There’s something ingenuous to her still, and she doesn’t want to be the cause of its disappearance. “She’s the kind you introduce to your parents.” She chuckles darkly, because the irony is not lost on her.

 

It’s Nyssa she’s talking to, and the woman is almost the exact opposite of that description. The brunette hums above her, but Sara fears looking up. She doesn’t want to see her expression, she’s afraid of what she would find there.

 

She feels tired, suddenly, and she slumps just a little against the strong form of her ex. “She deserves better than me.” She finally mumbles, indulging just a little in self-pity. Not that Nyssa would let her.

 

“Nonsense. You are precious, little bird.” She is fierce in her conviction and it’s strange to have someone believe in her like this. Ava is the same. For the first time since she sent her away, she wonders if she hasn’t made a mistake.

 

“Nyssa, I—” She must feel it coming, because she stops her.

 

“You do not have to explain, beloved.”

 

“No, I do. I wasn’t fair. I’m not being fair.”

 

“ _I_ asked you to leave.”

 

They’re apart now and she stares at the woman, and Nyssa stares back. The woman’s jaw is set and Sara knows that it will not be easy to persuade her that it is Sara’s fault.

 

“I did not expect you to come back.” The brunette adds, and it’s maybe redundant. It’s the truth though, she can see it in her eyes, and it strikes her like a punch in the gut. She can’t deny it though. “Why are you here, Sara?” She asks again, and Sara deflates. There’s no hiding, not anymore.

 

“Because you’re safe.” She whispers at least, defeated. The confession makes Nyssa frown, just a little. The other woman is stiff, as if preparing for a blow. She isn’t wrong. “After my death … After everything, it’s … My old life, it’s like it happened to someone else. Everything feels so distant, and you, you were the only thing that made sense. But the Sara you love is gone, and I was so lost, so I left. You asked, and I left.” She’s exhausted. She hasn’t talked about this in depth with anyone.

 

“You deserve a life unburdened by your past.” Nyssa soldiers on, and it angers Sara. She has failed this woman so many times, and it doesn’t make sense that the Heir would still want the best for her. It makes her sick.

 

“Dammit, Nyssa!”

 

“Why are you upset with me?”

 

“Why don’t you fight, why aren’t you angry? I left you! Three times!” She’s being cruel, she knows, but she can’t help it. She doesn’t know why she wants Nyssa to be angry with her, just that she needs her to.

 

“You were always meant to fly free, Sara.” Nyssa answers, gentle, unprovoked, and her face is sad. “I can only hold you back.” There is defeat in those words, but the Heir is dignified, as always. It drains the anger from Sara, and she collapses back down, hides her face in her hands. There is an arm, circling her shoulders, and Nyssa presses a kiss on the crown of her head. She doesn’t deserve such affection, but she can’t reject it. “Stop being afraid.”

 

“How? There’s a demon in my head. What if I lose myself? What if I hurt her?”

 

“Do you not think it is a risk worth taking? Would you rather waste it away on a what if?”

 

“It’s a pretty big what if, Nyssa.”

 

“Is she incapable of defending herself then?”

 

“No, uh, no. She’s, she’s pretty badass.”

 

“Well then, trust her to stop you, and stop being afraid.”

 

It’s almost a voice of reason. She wants to believe the words, almost does too. She says nothing more, just crumbles against Nyssa. Her eyes close and she sighs.

 

“Sleep, beloved.” Comes the whisper against her hair and she shakes her head, ever so slightly.

 

“No, I … I should go.” Her words clearly lack of conviction, though, and Nyssa chuckles quietly. She helps Sara up, and almost drags her towards the bedroom. The blonde lets her. She shouldn’t, she knows, but she’s so very tired, and Nyssa is safe. Sara takes off her shoes and her belt, keeping the rest on. She won’t be asleep long enough for it to matter, anyway. They lie down together, and the Heir arranges them comfortably under the blankets. Instinctively, she curls up around the taller woman and breathes in her familiar scent, lulling her to sleep. There is a frown on her face though, and she feels Nyssa’s fingers trying to smooth it tenderly.

 

“Sleep, Sara. I will wake you if a nightmare takes you.”

 

Next thing she knows she’s lost to her slumber.

 

 

***

 

_“No, please don’t. Please, please!”_

_“Let me go, you don’t have to do this, please!”_

_“Why are you closing the door?”_

_“No, no, I’m sorry, please!”_

 

She wakes up trashing and there’s a weight holding her down; she struggles against it, with all her might. She hears a voice but the words don’t register to her, not when something is holding her shoulders still. She fights harder, grunting and she punches blindly, catching something. The contact grounds her just a little, just enough for her to catch her breath, and she soldiers on. The weight on her shoulders is finally gone, and she retreats as close to the head of the bed as she can, breathing heavily. It’s dark, and she doesn’t recognize where she is.

 

“Habibti.”

 

The voice is gentle, quiet. A voice she knows. She stares at the darkness, at the form she can barely see, and she curls a little more on herself. She can still feel the hands, the weight of that man. She remembers the smell of his cologne; it makes her nauseous. She gasps.

 

“Sara, please, calm yourself. Breathe.” Comes the voice again, closer this time. The form is near, but it’s not touching her, and she’s relieved. A light is turned on, and she blinks a little, finally seeing Nyssa in front of her. The former assassin looks devastated, and Sara can see that she wants to touch her, to comfort her, but that she refrains from it. It makes her sad. It makes her angry. She hates herself for this, for being this broken thing. Worthless.

 

“It was just a dream.” The lovely accent says but she shakes her head in answer, eyes wide and empty.

 

“Memory.” She mumbles, but Nyssa hears her all the same. She knows. She was the one to pick up the pieces after the Amazo, after all. She knows everything there is to know about Sara. Used to, anyway. Sara isn’t so sure now. “This is Mallus’ doing.” Quiet certainty. The Demon is having fun with her, trying to unsettle her, trying to break her. It kills her to admit it but she’s close to it.

 

Nyssa is close to her now, as close as she can without touching her. Her face is serious and Sara stares just a little.

 

“You are the strongest person I know, Sara.” She says, and the Captain wants to believe her. She wants to believe her so hard. But she knows it’s not true. She isn’t strong. Strong people don’t give in to the urges, strong people don’t try to murder their friends. She shakes her head but Nyssa nods instead, and finally embraces her. The touch makes her shake, and she hates herself for it. “You are. You survived all of this before, beloved.”

 

And it’s true, but today, today she’s tired, and she’s not sure she’s capable of surviving it again. The guilt, the self-loathing eats away at her, and she’s certain that soon, there will be nothing left.

 

“I had you.” Sara whispers, a little hesitant, but truthful. Nyssa had been there, every step of the way, to put her back together.

 

“You still do.” Nyssa assures her, quietly. She kisses her forehead and Sara breathes in slowly, tears in her eyes. “But you have Ava, too. You just have to let her in.” She can hear that the words are painful for the Heir.

 

“I’ll … yeah …” She mumbles, face down. She swallows. She’s starting to feel trapped again, and Nyssa must feel it, because she lets her go. “I have to go.” There is no hesitation now, and she rises from the bed without looking back. The moon is still high outside and she knows she hasn’t had more than an hour of sleep. It’s not enough, but she can’t stay here.

 

Nyssa follows her quietly into the living room as Sara gathers her things. She can feel her looking at her, and she does her best not to turn around. Goodbyes are never easy. They’re painfully aware of it. She’s dressed again, and finally, she turns.

 

The Heir is still gazing at her, her expression tender, and it’s impossible not to see the longing in her eyes. Sara hesitates, just for a second.

 

“I’m sorry.” She says again, and Nyssa smiles.

 

“I only ever wished for you to be happy, beloved.” She doesn’t want to tell her that she isn’t, that she isn’t sure she ever will be again. Come to think of it, she doesn’t know if she ever was happy. Instead, she steps closer to the brunette. On an impulse, she kisses her. Nyssa doesn’t hold back, embracing her and kissing back with her whole soul. But it doesn’t taste like home anymore. It tastes like goodbye.

 

Slowly, she steps away for the woman, trailing her fingers against her cheek for the last time. She isn’t certain she will come back. Isn’t sure she’ll be alive to.

 

It’s like Nyssa knows. She doesn’t make her promise anything. She only smiles.

 

“Thank you.” Sara whispers, and she disappears through the door.

 

 

***

 

Somehow, she makes it back to the jumpship. She collapses on her seat. Gideon doesn’t wait to get the spaceship in the air, and back to the Waverider. She wishes it could go somewhere else. She isn’t sure she has it in her to face her crew. She knows she looks like death warmed up. She doesn’t look strong. She doesn’t look like a leader, like someone who could succeed against Mallus. She feels the need to tell them to act without her, for a while. She needs a break. She needs to find herself again.

 

Still, she manages to put on foot in front of the other. She’s back on the Waverider, and she’s almost back in her room when Ray sees her. He assumes she’s on her way to leave, instead of simply coming back, and she doesn’t correct him. She turns around, and goes back to the jumpship. She needs that break and she knows her crew will fare better without her. It’s not difficult to believe it, too. She can still see the bruises on Ray’s face. It makes her sick to think that she did that to him.

 

It’s Ava who makes her stay. In spite of everything, she cares, and she refuses to see the other woman lost. She’s worried.

 

She shouldn’t have been.

 

Her fear for the agent turns to bitterness surprisingly quickly. All she can see are the lies. She feels like she doesn’t know Ava anymore. She feels like a fool. She’s angry, and when Ava lies to her face, she isn’t sure how she’s still in control of herself. The hate is warm in her belly, and she knows it’s the Pit talking, but she wants to give in. She’s tired of fighting it.

 

She has Nyssa’s words in her ear, though, Nyssa who believes her to be strong. She’s hurt the woman enough, she doesn’t want to disappoint her, not again. So she focuses her mind on something else. Finding out what Ava is hiding.

 

It’s worse than a punch in the gut. She can’t quite believe it, either. It simply doesn’t make sense. Of course, it explains why Ava was lying. It doesn’t hurt any less. It’s clear now that every memory she had shared with Sara was probably fake. She wonders what is the point of the game. She wonders if Ava is with Mallus, if this is just another way to break her.

 

She loathes to admit it, but it works. She’s breathless. She’s numb. She considers giving up, for a second. She doesn’t see the point in trying, not anymore. It’s like she has lost Ava already. Like she never had her to begin with. It’s painful.

 

 

***

 

 

Ava was not lying. It’s all she can think about as she stares at the passed-out woman on the floor. Ava was not lying so it means that someone else is lying to them. It means that someone did this to the agent. She’s horrified. She’s lost. She’s angry with herself, angry for thinking the worst of Ava when the woman is the purest human being she ever encountered. Was. Turns out she’s screwed up too after all. She just wasn’t aware of it.

 

But there isn’t time for any of that. Ava needs her, and no matter how much of a mess she is, she’ll help her. She’ll always be here for the other woman, regardless of what happens between them.

 

She tells her how great she is and she means every word of it. She cradles her face and she confesses, she lets her in, just a little. It’s in her voice. She needs Ava just as much as Ava needs her. She’s not going to give up on her, and she refuses to let her give up on herself. She’s worth everything and more. She wants to tell her that, wants to tell her that in spite of everything, Sara is falling in love with her. That it doesn’t matter who she was, it only matters who she is. That fake memories don’t mean anything. She’s the woman who came back for Sara. And for the blonde, it doesn’t get better than that.

 

 

***

 

 

She can’t do anything but look at the agent. She aches for her. She wishes she could understand what she’s going through. She wants to help. She can’t.

 

Ava is wasting away before her, and there’s nothing she can do. The other woman stays away, closed off, and Sara deserves that, she does, but she wants to be there for Ava nonetheless. She can’t stand to see her in pain.

 

She considers killing Rip, for a second. The monster in her warms at the idea, and she has a dream where she’s bathed in the British’s blood. It’s enough to horrify her. She’s mad at the Englishman, but it’s nothing new — it’s not something she wants to end in death. She doesn’t think she’d be able to survive it.

 

Still, she aches to protect her lost lover, aches to make it up to her. And she hates herself, because she can’t help but think that maybe if she hadn’t sent the agent away, she could be there for her now. It’s nothing certain but the thought tortures her. She despises her selfishness, her fear, her cowardice.

 

She pushes her feelings deep, deep into a box, and locks it. It’s not the time to deal with them. Ava needs her, needs her to be whole, even if she feels anything but.

 

She steals a time-courier off Gary, and she follows Ava around. Mallus can wait. Mallus will never matter more than the agent — it isn’t reasonable but she doesn’t care anymore.

 

When she finally corners Ava, it’s in her apartment. The other woman is home for the first time in a week, and Sara wishes she would feel guilty for antagonizing her, but she can’t. She cannot let Ava go, not without a fight.

 

“I thought I asked you to leave me alone, Gary.” Comes the tired voice of her ex, and Sara winces. She’s learned how to recognize every one of the agent’s tones, and she knows already that she won’t be able to talk some sense into her.

 

“Not Gary.” She says, as light as she can be. Ava spins around, and Sara smiles. She can’t help but stare. The tall blonde looks like hell. It’s worse than how she looked after their break-up, and Sara falters in her step.

 

“What do you want?” The words are cold, but Sara knows better. She can hear the shaking voice; she can see how defeated she suddenly looks. She swallows.  

 

“Just to talk.” She answers, a little hesitant. She stops a few feet away from Ava, and doesn’t stop looking at her, even though the woman turns away.

 

“What is there left to talk about?” Ava is bitter, and the Captain cannot blame her. She knows it’s her fault. Still, she refuses to see the blonde like this.

 

“Don’t do this.” She pleads quietly, taking a step towards Ava. The woman scoffs and Sara winces, turning away for a second. When she looks at the blonde again, she’s staring at her hands. Slowly, the Captain moves to sit beside her. “Ava. Please. Talk to me.”

 

“And say what? I don’t know what’s real anymore, Sara!” The distress is clear as day and it hurts. It hurts to see Ava suffering to much. Not for the first time, she wishes there was something she could do. “Everything I … Everything I know about me is false. Engineered. Nothing is mine.”

 

 _I’m yours_ , she wants to say, but she knows the words are not welcomed. Slowly, she grabs Ava’s hand, holds it. She doesn’t look away from her face.

 

“That’s not true, Ava.” She replies, conviction is her voice. Her free hand comes up to hold the woman’s face, stroking the skin lightly. Ava slides away, and their skin don’t touch anymore. Sara looks away, swallowing, grabbing her own hands. Trying not to show the hurt she knows is clear in her eyes. “So maybe your childhood isn’t your own, so what? That doesn’t define you.”

 

She can see that Ava doesn’t believe her, that it’s not enough. Truth be told, she doesn’t know what to say to make it better — doesn’t know if it can ever be better.

 

“Sara. It’s not just my childhood.” Ava is looking at her, disbelief in her voice. She’s speaking to her as if she’s a bit thick, as if she’s stupid, and it hurts. She swallows her anger, knowing it wouldn’t help — but it’s there, always there nowadays. She’s in no shape to be the voice of reason, she realises. She can’t leave the agent like this, though.

 

“I know that.” She answers, a little short. Frustrated. She passes a hand through her hair and she takes a breath. “Ava … You are extraordinary. Who cares if you never ate cookies with your parents. They’re just memories. They’re not who you are.” It’s not only Ava she’s trying to reassure. Her own memories are not her own, anymore, and she’s certain she’s not the Sara she was. She lost that part of herself, and she has to believe that she can be whole again, or she’ll never keep going.

 

“Then who am I?”

 

“The same stubborn pain in my ass I met all those months ago.” She cracks a smile, and Ava’s expression seems lighter. It’s a win, in her book, but it’s not enough. “I told you, you’re a badass. You’re Ava Sharpe. And you’re real.” She reaches for her again, and this time, the taller woman doesn’t move away. She strokes her cheek. “You should sleep, you look like hell.” She’s aware of the hypocrisy, but she can’t help it.

 

“Thanks, jerk.” She laughs then, and Ava smiles, just a bit. It’s enough for now. She helps her up, and takes her to the bedroom. She’s but too aware that she was in Ava’s position, not so long ago. She helps her out of her jacket, of her shoes. She lingers by the door then, not wanting to go but knowing that she had no right to stay, not anymore.

 

“Sara …” Ava whispers by the bed, staring at her with vulnerable eyes. It’s too much for Sara. She isn’t ready yet, not matter how much she wishes to be. She’s still a mess, and now Ava is too, and it’s too much.

 

“Goodnight, Ava.” She says instead, hesitating another second before turning around. She hits the time-courier on her wrist and she’s back on the Waverider.

 

 

***

 

Mallus is closing in on them. On her. She should be scared but she’s ready for it to be over. No matter how it ends, she wants to be done with it. If it means death, then she’d welcome it. She died before, it doesn’t scare her. She simply hopes she won’t come back this time; if she’s meant to die, she wants to be dead for good.

 

She still feels off-balance. Sleep has eluded her for days now, and she’s running out of time. A part of her wants to come clean to Ava, wants to believe that maybe she’d be enough for the other woman — it’s wishful thinking, she knows that. She doesn’t think it would change anything. Her heart argues against her, telling her that having Ava grounds her and all she needs is hope, but it’s not enough.

 

She feels like a failure (always a failure, a looser, a fuck-up), good for nothing. The only silver lining is that they almost have all the totems.

 

She doesn’t expect to find Darhk begging for their help. Maybe beg is a strong word, but it’s what she calls it. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since she met him, he seems somewhat human. Deep down, she can see his pain, she can _feel_ it and she hates it. The loathing is strong in her gut and every time she sees him she sees Laurel’s grave. The only change she wants to see in him is going from alive to dead, and she doesn’t miss the opportunity to tell him so.

 

And she almost does it, almost watches as Rory burns him alive — and Ava stops her. She couldn’t care less about Rip; as a matter of fact, she ignores him as much as possible for fear of ripping out his tongue. But Ava makes her hesitate. It takes all she has but she asks Rory to stand down.

 

She can’t stand being in the room, so she leaves. She needs a drink, or several. A whole bottle maybe. It won’t do any good, that she knows, but it’s the best avoidance technique she knows. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Darhk bleed out before her. She’s the one holding the knife, in her fantasy, and she can almost feel Laurel’s ghost. She wouldn’t approve, of course. She wouldn’t want Sara turning into a cold-blooded killer again.

 

The alcohol is not enough to calm the bloodlust, however. She doesn’t even see the point. It’s what she has wanted for so long, and now that she has it, she can’t do what she longs to do. Of course, the rational part of her understands the argument. Killing Darhk seems petty in the grand scheme of things. But she doesn’t want to be the bigger person, even if she has to. It hurts, but she lets him live. She trusts him as far as she can throw him.

 

***

 

This time, it’s Ava who breaks her heart, and she can’t help but think that they’ve gone full circle. Her confession is still heavy on her tongue, and the moment Ava leaves, she collapses again the wall. It was the fear talking, she knows. It doesn’t make it less true. Her heart aches for the Agent, and nothing will change that. The worst part is that she understands why Ava left; she can’t even blame her. She wouldn’t take a chance on her either, she doesn’t deserve it.

 

But she has this feeling that she’s going to die, and she needed to tell her — she owed it to Ava, really. It doesn’t change anything, in the end. Maybe it makes her more focused (it doesn’t).

 

She pretends like she’s all right, as she always does. Her face is tense, but she’s in the game — the stakes are too high to bother worrying about something as trivial as feelings. It won’t matter if they fail, anyway, since the entirety of Time will collapse. God, Laurel would be so ashamed of her.

 

The sun of Zambezi is harsh against her pale skin, and it reminds her of the Island. The memory is so strong she almost collapses, and she knows it means only one thing — Mallus is getting close. It scares her and she gasps, trying to fight the visions. She remembers being starved, so close to death and yet resisting its call, against all odds. She can almost feel the dryness of her mouth. There’s a shadow above her and for a second she feels like Nyssa is here, again.

 

It’s Ray. He’s worried but she can’t deal with it right now.

 

“I’m okay.” She says, even though she’s clearly not. He goes to say something but she pushes him away slowly, getting back on her feet. “Let’s do this.” The conviction is shaky, at best, but it’s the most she can manage at the moment. She hopes it’ll be enough.

 

They get betrayed a few minutes later, and she’s not even surprised. Instead, she sees red. Nora is at large but Darhk is here, and this time no-one is here to stop her. In spite of his magic, she attacks. She doesn’t mind getting hurt, she deserves it. Once again, her team is in danger because of her. They should have killed him before. She never learns from her mistakes.

 

When she plunges the knife in his back, it feels good. She’s probably bleeding somewhere and something hurts, but it’s nothing next to the satisfaction of stabbing him.

 

Against her better judgment, she still doesn’t strike to kill. The betrayal made her bitter, cruel perhaps, and she knows he deserves to suffer before dying. Nothing will stop Mallus from getting out now, and the Demon will take Nora with him. It’s not her best moment but she’s almost glad it happens like that. She can see the anguish on Darhk’s face and it’s like honey on her tongue.

 

Of course they have bigger problems on their hands.

 

***

 

She feels like she can’t stop making mistakes. She wants to hate the Professor for making her Captain, but he’s dead, and so she can’t do that. The box she carefully keeps her emotion in is trying to burst open and she doesn’t know how to deal with that. It seems like she can’t stop it from happening, but she also doesn’t have the time to reflect. They’re hiding, but they won’t be hiding for long.

 

She has no idea how to stop Mallus, and no matter what Amaya says, she knows they’re not worthy.

 

(She’s not worthy.)

 

She may be able to wear the Totem now, it doesn’t mean that she wants to. It scares her, or rather, she’s afraid of herself. Mallus is out of his prison but she can still feel him in her head. It’s the doubt, and the fear; the anger.

 

And once again, she’s busy drinking, and it still doesn’t help. Instead, all she wants is to collapse somewhere, and ignore all that is happening. It’s dreadful that after all those years, and all that she’s been through, she can’t help but think about running first. But it’s what she does. She’d like to think that she isn’t running from something but towards it, yet she can’t quite lie to herself about this.

 

The only thing that keeps her right where she is is that she owes it to her team. This isn’t even about the world, anymore. Just thinking about it gives her anxiety. Not matter what Laurel wanted to believe, she is no hero. But she can try to keep her friends alive, and that’s what she’s going to do. It doesn’t matter what happens to her. Whatever price there is to pay, she’ll pay it gladly. But she can’t let down one of her own again.

 

She just needs to find what to do. It’s easier said than done.

 

***

 

It’s hard to believe that it’s over. It’s never that easy. She almost expects the ground to open up beneath their feet.

 

Yet nothing happens. The Time Bureau does its job and they get ready to leave, once again. No-one died. Still, she remains anxious.

 

She can’t help but look at Ava, a bit wary. Their conversation was interrupted and she knows it’s not the right time to continue it, but she can’t ignore what was left unsaid. She told her that she loved her, and yes it was mostly because she feared dying, but it was true none-the-less. But now the words stand between them and she knows that they can’t start back when they stopped. Ava is still struggling and Sara … Sara can’t even think beyond what she’s going to do that night.

 

She’s not ready to deal with that yet, she needs to collapse first, and maybe sleep for an age. Nobody has said it to her yet but she has been running on empty for a long time now, and she doesn’t hide it as well as she thinks she does.

 

It’s Amaya who looks the most worried, and Sara can’t really blame her. As she returns to Zambezi, the last actual adult of the group leaves.

 

It hurts but she smiles none-the-less, because the woman was always returning to her tribe.

 

It was only a matter of time. How ironic.

 

***

 

It hits in the middle of the night. She’s still a little bit drunk from the celebration, so she doesn’t realise what is happening at first. She thinks it’s the stress coming down, or maybe getting used to having her head to herself again.

 

It doesn’t explain why she feels like her brain is melting. The pain is excruciating. Thank God, she’s alone in her quarters, and she can let out a whimper without fear of seeming weak.

 

She wants to cut off her head. It’s crushing her brain, and she is certain she is bleeding. She curls up in the middle of her bed, grasping a pillow. She isn’t proud of it, but she screams into it. This is worse than anything she’s been through before.

 

She feels cold and hot at the same time, and she knows she’s shaking badly.

 

She remembers Constantine’s words suddenly, and she understands what’s happening. Magic has a price, and she’s paying it.

 

She can only hope that she’s the only one in her team feeling this pain. The others don’t deserve this agony.

 

She must lose consciousness at some point, because when she wakes again, she isn’t alone. Ava is near her, and for a second, she feels like she’s dreaming. The blonde’s fingers are stroking her hair and it almost makes her feel better.

 

However, the pain is soon crippling her once more and she has to jump off the bed towards her bathroom, where she throws up almost instantly. The Agent is here behind her merely seconds later and she can’t help but lean a little into her embrace.

 

“Gideon called me.” She says, and Sara almost chuckles. Of course she did. She can barely manage a pained groaned, however, and she closes her eyes to escape the worried gaze Ava is placing on her. “What’s happening, Sara?” The Agent asks, and she can’t even answer. She doesn’t know, not really.

 

She wretches again, and this time, Ava is here to grab her hair and put it out of her face. She grabs the bowl with tired fingers, and once it’s over, she almost collapses to the ground.

 

“Shit, Sara!”

 

She can’t see it, but there’s blood in the bowl.

 

Next thing she knows she’s being carried by the blonde. She holds on with weak fingers, and she hides her face against the woman’s shoulder as she takes her to the med bay. She’s too exhausted to try to fight her, she isn’t sure she could talk if she tried to. Her head is pounding and her throat is sore, and she feels like she’s been shot in the gut all over again.

 

It’s terrifying.

 

It doesn’t even matter that Ava is seeing her like that, she’s hurting too much to care. But she fears she might be dying, so she holds on.

 

It’s the only thing she truly remembers from her past life, the only thing that is fresh in her mind. She remembers how lonely she had felt, when those arrows were shot in her chest. She remembers the cold, and the fear.

 

She tries to say something, she thinks, but Ava shushes her and she falls quiet.

 

Then she’s being lowered onto a bed, and she can hear voices but she’s too out of it to understand any of it. She grabs Ava’s arm desperately, eyes wide with fear, and she doesn’t like that the woman seems as afraid as she is.

 

Her mouth tries to form words but all she seems to be able to do is groan helplessly. Ava secures the band around her wrist and she can see the light of the screen lighting up being her. The voices are more urgent now, and she hates the panic she sees on Ava’s face. She holds onto her, body twisting under the pain, and she can’t help but cry out suddenly.

 

She almost falls off the bed as a spasm runs through her body, and then the agent is holding her down. She’s talking to her, Sara realises suddenly, but her ears are ringing and she can’t hear what’s being said.

 

She arches once more, and it’s almost as if every bone in her body decides to break. The pain is too much, it’s tearing her apart, and then there’s nothing.

 

***

 

For a blissful moment, she imagines herself being dead again. Everything is quiet, and the pain is gone — it’s all that matters. The only regret she has is leaving Ava is such a horrific way.

 

But she knows she isn’t. She’s been dead before, and this isn’t it.

 

Still, she’s afraid of opening her eyes. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen if she does. Slowly, she becomes aware of the steady beeping noise around her. It’s enough to make her frown, and she wants the quiet back. But soon she feels a hand grasping tightly her fingers, and it hurts just enough to be unpleasant. She tries to say something then, but the only thing she can manage is a grunt.

 

She hears movement, and a hand is pressed again her cheek.

 

“Sara? Sara? Are you awake?” The voice is urgent, and she recognizes Ava instantly. She groans again, and hears a watery laugh in response.

 

She tries to open her eyes and regrets it as soon as she does. The light is too bright. The agent seems to understand quite fast, and the lights are deemed. When Sara tries again, she finds that she can keep her eyelids open. Ava is standing right above her, and she’s smiling, so she can’t help smiling back.

 

She opens her mouth to speak but the blonde shakes her head and she disappears a second. When she’s back, she has a cup in her hand, and Sara smiles gratefully. She takes a sip with the straw, and finally the fire in her throat subsides.

 

“W-What happened?” She manages to mumble and the look on Ava’s face says it all. It looks like the other woman can’t answer, so she turns to the ceiling. “Gideon?”

 

“You suffered from multiple internal bleedings. It appears that you bore the shock of the magic on your body alone.”

 

She doesn’t really absorb everything that is being said, and she tries to get up, but Ava’s hand on her shoulder stops her. She looks at her confused, and then around the med-bay.

 

“But the team is all right, right?” There is only silence that greets her and she swallows, suddenly anxious. The other bed is empty but maybe it was too late. “Right?!”

 

“Yes, Captain.” The AI answers and she can’t help but sigh in relief. She collapses back down on the bed, and closes her eyes again.

 

“Thank god.”

 

“How can you say that?” It’s the first time she hears Ava’s voice since the inside, and the hurt barely disguised in it makes her ache. She opens her eyes to look at her and she frowns.

 

“What?” She’s closing back up, that she knows. It isn’t fair to Ava, especially after what she had witnessed. The agent looks betrayed, and she can see her turning away from her before she does it.

 

She never learns. She was the one to open up to Ava first, not many days ago. Yet she can’t seem to be able to gather the courage to do the same. She was so close to death; it still scares her. She isn’t afraid of dying but it doesn’t mean that she wants it.

 

“Why do you always do that? No, you know what, I don’t care.” The blonde goes to stand up and she throws a hand out to stop her.

 

“Ava, wait.” She tries to get up, but she can’t. She’s hopeless on this bed, and Ava is getting closer to the door.

 

“No. No, you don’t get to do this anymore Sara.” Ava isn’t looking at her, but she sounds so hurt that Sara can’t help but feel her pain. She clenches her teeth.

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Because it doesn’t; she doesn’t matter. It was nothing, barely anything.

 

“You were DYING Sara!” She turns back, finally, and her gorgeous blue eyes are wet with tears, and vibrant with anger. Sara freezes on the bed. “You were dying. Do you understand? You were spiting out blood and then you collapsed.”

 

She can hear the fear in her voice, the panic, still, and she can’t move. She’s frozen in place, eyes wide open, and she can’t stop Ava.

 

“Ava …” She whispers, but the blonde is shaking her head, lifting her hand to stop her. Reluctantly, she does.

 

“No, enough. You can’t joke about this, Sara. This won’t ever be okay.” The agent’s voice cracks at the end, and she can’t look at her anymore. The shame and the guilt is coursing through her body, and she doesn’t know what to say. “You matter.” She hears, and when she lifts her gaze, Ava is gone.

 

“So … That went well?” Nate is at the door, and she rolls her eyes at him before dropping her head back down on the bed. She’s never one to stay longer than is absolutely necessary in the med-bay, but right now, she doesn’t feel like moving.

 

“Yeah, it went perfectly.” She snarks back, sighing and closing her eyes.

 

“Look, Cap’—”

 

“Don’t.” She stops him, lifting a hand to pinch her nose. She breathes in slowly, focusing on herself just for a second. She feels sore all over, but it seems that nothing hurts too much.

 

“We’re just glad you’re okay.” He says quietly, and she can feel him staring at her a while longer before he leaves. The door slides shut behind him and this time she doesn’t supress her groan.

 

She hates that this happened. She hates that she still has a headache. She hates that she seems to bring pain wherever she goes. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe she should be alone — she sure as hell doesn’t deserve anybody here with her.

 

But she still feels Ava’s hand holding her fingers, and she aches. She wants it. It’s selfish, but she wants it desperately.

 

Not yet. She’s going to sleep first, and then she’ll fix her mess — or try to. Yes.

 

“Gideon?” She mumbles, and it seems that the AI agrees with her because she slips suddenly into a dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

She’s never been this afraid in her life, and it’s saying something because she faced literal demons. Still, that closed door seems to be glaring at her, and even though she’s been standing there for at least ten minutes, she still hasn’t knocked.

 

She’s used to be bold; hell, she said I love you first, despite everything. In this moment, she feels anything but. She’s ready to bolt, to be honest, but something keeps her rooted right where she is.

 

It’s like she’s rebelling. She’s tired of thinking that this isn’t for her, that she doesn’t deserve it. She wants to try anyway. She owes it to herself, really, and to Ava.

 

She owes it to her sister who did everything in her power to bring her back.

 

She owes it to Nyssa. She promised that she’d be living her life, and she’s going to.

 

It starts now.

 

She knocks.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's a sequel in the works, if you're interested!  
> Can't say when it's going to come out but hopefully soon enough.


End file.
